To Belong
by Bishop.AG
Summary: Marida Cruz owed everything to her master. But what did she owe someone who claimed to be a friend? A small realization could drastically change the course of her life and those of others. Set before and during Gundam Unicorn OVA, a story about what might be possible.
1. Friends

**March 14th, 0089 U.C.  
Side 6**

* * *

Fresh rays of sunlight cast brightly across the slum, wiping away the frigid dregs of the rainy season and warming old bones. Numerous children ran about, splashing through puddles with delight as their parents looked on tiredly. Brick-and-mortar apartments lined the streets, while several hundred feet up, shining glass and metal structures were visible amidst a complex web of highways and rail systems.

Past that, gigantic mirrors reflected the rays of the far-off sun toward the ground, while the opposite end of the colony cylinder could be just faintly seen. The adults had known what a clear blue sky looked like, but their children didn't know the difference.

A sudden yelp pierced the laughter, if only for a moment. Chrys was up to no good, as usual. The red-headed runt of a girl had already knocked one of the older boys into a puddle, it seemed, but it didn't take long for him to return the favor. They wrestled with the energy that only children could summon for fun.

Soon enough, the novelty of rough housing wore off and she plopped herself down onto a stack of shipping pallets.

As usual, there was a girl planted there, watching the rest of them play. Chrys was almost nine - this girl was probably a year or two older, or just kinda tall! Her hair was a sort of red-brown, nearly an orange when it caught the sun. She was thin and wore some really stuffy clothing, like a pretty dress but with tears all over and weird colored patches. Even though Chrys thought she was really pretty looking, her dress was pretty ugly. It looked cold too - Chrys couldn't imagine sitting outside with her legs showing when she was so used to her denim overalls.

When she thought about it, the girl sat there every day around the same time for an hour two, but Chrys had never thought to talk to her until now. After all, people who sat around all the time were so boring!

When she actually paid attention though, it seemed she wasn't boring, but just quiet. Kinda like her dad had been after he got back from the war; she looked around constantly at people and noticed a lot of stuff. Her features were soft, as were her violet eyes, which were kinda creepy but cool and wonderful at the same time! She looked like someone who was pretty and smart - so why did she look so unhappy?

"Heyo, do ya know my mama?" Chrys trilled, bouncing energetically on her heels. The girl's head swiveled and suddenly those oddly-colored eyes were staring right at her. She looked down to her feet, then back to her face, her own features remaining stony. It reminded Chrys of how her mom would see if she had played in the mud too much.

"No." Her voice was like all the other girls they played with, but she sounded just as serious as a grown-up, her words slow and grave-sounding. Normally people would explain if someone asked them a question, but this girl didn't say anything! In fact, she looked like she was mad, angry, or maybe both - though not at Chrys apparently, judging from how she ignored her.

"Umm um..." Chrys touched a finger to her lip, like some of the ladies did on TV when they were thinking. "You know you look like my mommy? She sits an' looks at people and stuff all serious-like... and she piloted mobile suits in the war!" Grown-ups always talked about the big war of the 'Feddies' against the 'Zeons,' so even though Chrys didn't know who those people were, she thought it could have been agood way to talk to new people. After all, everyone knew about it, right?

She noticed that word, 'war' seemed to really bother her though. The girl's lips pressed together till they were little more than a thin line. Her eyes narrowed to little slits, and her hands balled into little fists for just a moment. Chrys held her breath, staring at her and waiting. Eventually, she just shook her head, shoulders drooping.

Chrys folded her hands in her lap and stared at the ground, too. Even if she didn't know this person, it wasn't good to make her feel bad. "Are you mad at me?"

At that point, it seemed as if she weren't even there. She must have felt even worse than she thought. Chrys wondered if she was like this every day! In her mind, there was only one way to solve such issues. "Do you want ice cream?"

Even those magic words didn't get a reaction from the orange-haired girl. Chrys huffed, sitting up. It wasn't like she liked getting ignored, either. She decided just to get her some anyway taking the older girl by the hand and urging her away from the pallets. The older girl's eyes widened in surprise and as she found herself dragged along. They moved toward the market part of the city, laughter of the other kids fading behind them.

It was a confusing city, with lots of roads that ended abruptly and construction blocking many routes, but Chrys had paid careful attention when her mama drove her around. She knew how to get to most places in their little slice of the colony, so even with an unwilling victim in tow, it only took a few minutes to find what she was looking for. Just past the twin overpasses that marked the border between the poorer and richer parts of town, there were a bunch of little shops that kids from both parts of town begged their parents to go to.

They sold toys and sweets there, fancy clothes and all sorts of electronic things. The shops were placed there because nothing was super cheap, but people from even the poorer places wanted the stuff anyway. It was less crowded because of the rain, so they didn't have to deal with big lines. Fortunately for them, the shop was indoors, too. It was an ice cream parlor, and not a big one - with just four tables and six seats up at the counter. It was hard to see from the street, so people that traveled through the area never really learned about the place.

As soon as Chrys let go, the other girl took a few steps away, backing into a corner looking even more miserable than before. After a moment, she started to take in the environment around her. It was a small place. Four tables and just as many seats up at the counter were all the space available to them, while a huge, colorful menu covered the wall behind the cashier. Even for Chrys, who was a bit spoiled and went more than most, there always a bit of magic that could be find in the rainbow of colors that served to decorate the parlor.

Chrys' skipped over beside the other child, her little fingers latching on to a bit of thread-bare fabric and tugging. "So whatchu want? Vanil'a, rocky road, strawberry, raspberry, chocolateberry..." The girl stared dumbly at the colors in the buckets, her eyes wide as saucers. She looked one way, then the other, gaze eventually settling on a large picture of a tall glass filled to the brim with chocolate parfait.

Whatever this girl liked, she had really expensive tastes. Still, it only took one look at her for Chrys to decide that if she was that miserable, the extra expense didn't mean much. Like mama had told her, you could have all the money you wanted and still be miserable.

A handful of coins later and Chrys was taking a tall glass filled with chocolate ice cream, gelatin and parfait cream to a table. Dragging the other girl over a moment later, she planted the spoon in her hand. She tried sniffing it, but finding no offensive odors, gingerly grabbed the glass and slid it across the table toward herself. It was odd to Chrys - she seemed to want it, yet have no real idea why.

The orange-headed child took a scoop, parting her lips just enough to allow it in. This close, Chrys could see how chapped they were. The colony wasn't really dry climate. Why would she get cracked lips so badly, she wondered? Even though she seemed to enjoy it, she cringed whenever she closed her mouth - so was it bruised instead of simply chapped? When she looked closely, it seemed that she had other bruises, covered up with some kinda makeup!

But why were there so many? Chrys scowled at that and made little fists. Her mom and dad had killed people in war - but they never beat anybody up. Why did anybody else want to?

Chrys decided to think on other things as the girl handed her the spoon. Given she seemed to like it so much, she just handed it back.

But then, the girl shook her head. "No. I feel like I should share."

It was true, it was a really big glass, but she wanted to be nice. "Dontcha like it?" The girl nodded, but said nothing more. "So do eat ice cream a lot?"

"I never have."

She was talking! That was definitely progress. "So what do you think of it now?"

The girl poked the spoon into the glass again. She spoke in a really odd sort of way, slow and measured - like a wise old person instead of a kid! "It makes me... it makes me feel happier. it's familiar to me. But I don't know why. Is that... normal?"

It was the first question she had asked. Chrys rarely got asked serious questions, given how she had a reputation for giving painfully honest answers. She didn't think it meant anything when she blurted out, "I think it's really weird!"

"I... see."

"Weird can be wonderful too and stuff!" the young girl added on, realizing that what she said might not have helped at all. She was dreading that the damage had already been done, though.

The girl sitting across from her flushed, cheeks reddening. She sunk in her seat, and her embarrassment made it seem as if she could read Chrys' mind to affirm her sincerity. She looked over to the mostly emptied glass of parfait. "Are you someone's master?" She whispered.

For all her imagination and spontaneous nature, Chrys couldn't find anything coherent to respond with. "Eeeh!?"

The exclamation didn't faze the other girl, whose gaze remained steady and unblinking. She was absolutely composed, which didn't seem normal for a kid her age. "Only my master gave nice things. Are you somebody else's master?"

Chrys wasn't entirely sure what that even meant, but the few times she had heard her dad use the word, he hadn't sounded very happy. He was usually talking about what mommy was like. She definitely didn't treat her new friend like mom treated her! "I'unno!" she squeaked, rocking on her feet with her arms waving at her sides. "Are masters like friends?"

"I only know that I need my master," she muttered, acting if the explanation were a response in itself, looking sullen once more as her gaze dropped to the pavement.

"Well you need friends too, dontcha?"

"Why?"

"Coz' you do! To get ice cream with and run around and have fun!"

Still, the girl's stare was blank and her mouth slightly agape as she groped for the right words. "But..."

Chrys' face lit up as an idea occurred to her. "Kay, I know!" she suddenly interjected, beaming. "We can be friends so we can find your master together!"

The older girl looked uncertain, but she nodded slowly. "Okay." The girl looked one way, then the other, like she was expecting to find her master right then and there.

Chrys didn't fully understand it, but she still felt bad about it, somehow. She offered her hand in a decidedly grown-up-like manner. "Okay! I'm Chrys. Like Chrysanthemumumum..."

"Like what?"

"Like the flower! They're red and yellow and white! But not ev'ryone is named after flowers, so whats your name?"

Her friend stared at the ground once more, smoothing out her wrinkled dress. "Master said not to tell anyone..."

"But where is your master?" Chrys asked innocently, not missing a beat.

She bit her lip and wrung out her small hands, trying to decide what to say. Sniffling, she let out a little sigh. "My name is... Ple Twelve."

"Wow. What a cool name!"

Ple Twelve stared, her violet eyes wide and ponderous. "...you really think so?"

"Yeah!"

"Is it weird too?"

"Nope!"

* * *

**[Author's Note:] **This is my first Gundam-universe fanfiction and while not totally ignorant, I have quite a bit of learning and research to do on the way. We're going to see a lot of plot shenanigans involving Gundam Unicorn, I know that for sure. But there will be plenty of original content. Feedback of any kind is welcome!

EDIT: Goodness, a FIFTH rewrite.


	2. Hearts

**May 2n****d****, 0089 U.C.  
Side 6**

* * *

"So whatcha wanna do?"

The orange-haired girl lapped away at the last bits of the sweet dessert before sitting back with a content sigh. "You mean besides having ice cream?"The treat in question had become something of a staple for their meetings. Whether the colony was oppressively warm or freezing cold, Ple had found it was her salve for rough days. The girls had few things in common, but they both liked sweet things, it seemed. She wasn't sure why. The treat brought a sort of nostalgia to her, like they were linked to memories from another life. Whatever the reason, it was one of her few comforts.

Sometimes Chrys would bring enough money for both of them. Other times, Ple would scrounge up what she could from the street. Somehow, they always made it work in the end.

"Hehe. Yeah, besides that!" Chrys giggled. It was something she did more than anyone else Ple knew, which was surprising given she liked to get into so many fights. Even now she had come back huffing and puffing, covered with bruises. In her world, people who fought were definitely not also people who giggled. Or acted so incredibly silly.

Mostly, anyway. There was an intense irony to it that Chrys acted like so many of Ple Twelve's biological sisters. She didn't think it was possible for anyone else to stay cheery in adverse conditions. In her own way, the silly little girl was incredibly strong. Maybe stronger than any she had met.

She asked more questions than anyone else. There wasn't anything wrong with that, and for Ple it was an interesting change of pace. Which was a world apart from being told to destroy something without any questions asked.

Her purple irises drifted upward, tracing the curve of the colony wall until she found herself gazing at the inky space where the night sky was indistinguishable from outer space. Some part of her was still trapped there.

"Hellooooo? Ple?"

"Eh? What?"

She wasn't actually alone, after all. Chrys was one of the only girls in their slum that would talk to her - and she probably talked more than the others combined. Ple felt compelled to answer the girl. " I'm not sure, actually. Nobody ever asked."

"Oh. Soo?" Chrys shrugged. "I asked! Think about it!"

"Aw, do I _have_ to?" Ple folded her arms across her chest, rolling her eyes.

Chrys scooted closer, bumping into the girl, her little hands squeezing her arm. "Yup!"

The other girl's persistence made the corners of her mouth twitch upward for a moment. She had intended to answer the girl's questions anyway, but there was something about how Chrys would act if she didn't get what she wanted.

That was called being cute, right? Ple didn't know what to think - she didn't know others her age for reference. Still, she didn't want to torment her forever. The words that came, though were without conscious thought, like she was plucking them from a set of instructions written inside her head. "My master's desires are my own. What my ma-"

"Stop. No!" Chrys pouted. "You know, we talked about masters and stuff a whole bunch. Why not talk about you!" She pointed her finger right at the girl's nose.

"Me?" Ple couldn't find anything more coherent to respond with. Her expression was blank. She and her master were not separate entities, after all. What was the distinction?

"Yesh," Chrys responded, rolling her eyes. Her hands dropped to her sides and she tilted her head, looking dour. "Who else?"

Ple found herself at a total loss for words, or even thoughts on the matter. She twirled her hair with a finger, staring down at the battered hem of her shirt, examining the stitches. Buying time, mostly. "My master… he and I…"

"Oh gosh, we've been over this. You're different, alright?"

"Different, how?"

"Different like rain an' sunshine. Your master isn't picking your words for you right now… wait, are they?" Chrys sat up, looking around rapidly.

Ple thought she was making fun of her, but she was more perplexed by the idea presented to her. Her master's guiding influence wasn't with her. He provided no answer for the question, which was intended for her alone. That was really possible? Ple turned suddenly to Chrys, taking her chin up in her hands and staring right at the blue-eyed child. "So that's a question just for me, right?

"Um yeah, right!"

"I've only ever known what my master would want. But you want me to figure what I want - by myself, too. But how do I do that?"

"Well how do you do anything else, silly? Think about what you wanna do, you know?"

Places to go. The answer to that was obvious. "What I 'wanna do?' In that case I should go to Side 3."

To her surprise, Chrys clung to her arm and shook her head furiously. "Nuuuuu!"

Her blood went icy. Why would Chrys keep her from there if she wasn't an enemy? She had to ask. "Why?"

The younger girl buried her face in her shoulder. Ple flinched at the sudden contact and had a hand poised on Chrys' shoulder to push her away. But the girl continued to wail. "Eeeeeh... it's dark and crowded and miserable! Why would you ever want to live there!"

Ple's hand froze. She had to make a conscious effort to draw a breath. With that knowledge, Chrys seemed a different person entirely. Ple's mouth was dry. "Wait wait, you lived with the Zeons?"

Chrys picked up the anxiety almost instantly. "Huh? Is that weird? I lived in Side 3 for three years. The Republic of Zeon, right?"

"And you don't hate them? And your parents don't hate them?" She was wary. Even if Chrys was her friend, she knew just about anyone could hate her for who she was, what she stood for... even if things didn't seem so relevant this distanced from all the fighting. Call her insecure, but she had reason to fear prejudice.

For her part, Chrys was as blithe as ever at first, but she caught on quickly, connecting the dots. "Should I hate them? Mama said that's a bad word, you know. And why d'ya ask? Do you have family in Zeon? Or are you-"

With every word she felt a desolate void build between her and Chrys, the girl having become another outsider who looked down at her as another scourge of humanity. "... I have to go now," she whispered, choking up.

Ple took off at a dead run away from the bench, darting into the nearest alley. She hopped over a spilled trash can, turning into the first intersection. She didn't know where she was going, just away from the park, or the place where her mistress bottled her up. Somewhere just to get away from all the human intent. Her mind reached out to where the people were fewest and she blindly sought out such a place.

She faltered as her heart skipped a beat, her chest suddenly becoming tighter, every breath a labor. Ple collapsed onto the cement. Her legs curled up into her chest, her fingers curling into quaking fists as she trembled. She watched with half-lidded eyes as Chrys ran over to her. The younger girl took her hand and squeezed. "We gotta go, Ple! This isn't a good part of town..."

It was so hard to keep her eyes open... the pain in her chest was sharp. Why did it hurt so much? She felt like she was going to pass out...

"Come on! We can't just sit here! Wake up!" There was a fierce burst of heavy, cloying emotion nearby. It was pure hateful intent, and it made the older girl thrash even as she laid there, nearly paralyzed with pain.

"B-behind..."

Someone loomed just past Chrys, wielding a burlap sack and a short length of pipe. The redhead spun around and tackled him without hesitation. The two disappeared from Ple's view. Her pulse pounded in her head so strongly she could barely hear what was going on. Finally she let her eyelids descend until the violent scene was swept away, replaced by darkness.

Arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her body from the ground. She tried to fight it, but she relaxed a moment later. Only someone like Chrys could have such little negative intent, blissfully ignorant of evil people and their ways. Ple was embarrassed. She had taken that much for granted.


	3. Going Away

**November 25th, 0091 U.C.  
Side 6**

* * *

"Hey Ple!"

"Hm?"

"You know when someone tells you something is a really, really bad idea, but you wanna do it anyway?"

The older girl looked critically to her friend, eliciting only a sheepish look in response. She closed her eyes, brow creasing in anticipation of the inevitable stress. "And if I do know?"

Chrys twiddled her fingers, not giving an outright admission for a long moment. "Well..." She turned to her friend, looking her fiercely in the eye - or as fiercely as the twelve-year-old girl could manage. "I wanna go to space!"

The creases to the young girl's face deepened as she grimaced for a moment. Her tone was weary. "_Why?_"

"I wanna help people, and a lot of people get hurt in space! Momma says it's a bad idea. Dad doesn't really pay attention, but I don't think he likes it either... Wait, why are you looking into the distance again!" Chrys cried out indignantly as her friend seemed to not pay attention.

She ran her fingers through Chrys' short hair. Her violet eyes were half-lidded. It was hard to tell if she was tired, unhappy or any combination of feelings. "Something else you want to tell me?" she said, her voice soft all at once. It reminded Chrys a bit too much of what mom was like after she had a few drinks, which was to say it worried her quite a bit!

But, just like mom, Ple could see something was bothering Chrys and knew she wanted deep down to talk about it. Still, she fidgeted, her head drooping as she wrung out her hands. "Weell... yeah.

"I gotta go now. I won't be back for a few years... but if you want I can go tomorrow or something..."

There was a cough from behind. "Actually kid, you can't."

Both of the girls turned with a start. There was a woman that looked like she was in her late thirties, clearly not a person with an easy life. She was slightly darker than most of the other colony dwellers, with the same complexion as a farmer. She was also dressed simply, wearing some battered jeans, work shoes and a dull green jacket that way fraying in places. Still, she was in great shape and pretty.

Ple flinched at the sight of a gold-colored crest on her shoulder, a stylized anchor topped with a four-point star. Earth Federation Space Forces. Chrys didn't really see a reason to, but some people didn't like the Federation and that was that. The jacket wasn't even hers, though! Chrys' uncle Terry had given it to after the 'war' years ago, after all.

"Oh... hi mom!" Chrys said. She tugged on Ple's hand until the other girl begrudgingly followed her over. People acted a little weird around her mom. Maybe they found her scary?

"This is your friend?"

"Yup!"

After looking Ple up and down for a moment, her mother smiled, extending a hand. "Chrys mentions you frequently." Her eyes were a dark brown and when she was mad, she looked really mad. Same when she was nice. Right now, her mother looked surprisingly disarming and friendly. Her brow wasn't knit again in frustratyion"She was right - you do look like a sweet girl." Her tone was even and gentle - it reminded Chrys of when she found out about an injury or problem with her friends. "You can call me Karen."

Ple looked to Chrys for guidance on the issue. Her friend nodded, so she took Karen's hand. "Thank you," she said softly. Then, more apprehensively, "Are you taking Chrys away?"

Karen grimaced, her thin brows knitting in frustration. "Oy vey. You're a blunt one, kid." She smoothed out her hair before letting the hand fall to her side, relaxed. "I guess I am. She's been trying very hard to get into a school in another colony group. They finally let her in, but they're very strict about it - she has to leave now."

"When will she be back?" Ple said firmly, meeting Karen's gaze as if she was an adult, too. This was the most Chrys had ever seen her talk to another person. It must have been important to her!

Did that mean Chrys was important to Ple? That wouldn't make any sense, given Ple had never expressed much interest in _people_ in general!

It was then her friend took Chrys' hand and squeezed it tight. "Will it really be that long?" She realized then that her perception of 'long' until that point had been at most a day. They had lived in Side 6 since she was about five years old. Since then, her life had been defined on a day to day basis. If mom got paid, it was a good day. Maybe if they had to move to a new place because their landlord was angry, it was a bad day. After she had met her friend, things had been simpler.

An unpleasant day's events would fade away in just a few hours if she waited at their meeting place. Like clockwork, Ple would show up and sit with her on the bench and chat about things. Chrys didn't have to wait for that, so she was used to getting what she craved very easily. At the same time, she wasn't stupid. She knew that the trip alone to their school would take entire days, which meant she wouldn't be able to visit whenever she wished.

It could be months and months before they could ever meet again. And Ple didn't have a family, a phone number or even a real home... there was the angry old woman that made Ple stay home for hours - sitting in small, filthy rooms while men paid money and visited... Chrys always ran away before she could see what happened after, but her gut feeling told her it was nothing good.

She didn't want to seem selfish, but who would Ple go to without her around? They had shared many little secrets and hopes in their time together. Chrys felt like she was a bad investment - like what her mom called it when her dad spent lots of money on a big road trip or recording his music for a big fee at a studio. She didn't want to disappoint her friend like that!

"Time to go."

Chrys stared wide-eyed at Karen, stammering something inaudible. She had practically zoned out as the two had discussed the situation. But Ple gave her hand a small squeeze, the sides of her lip twitching. trying to curl upward. Chrys felt her heart sink and dipped her head in an unsteady nod.

Their goodbye was wordless. It was probably easiest that way, though Karen still had to pull Chrys along when she dragged her feet.

The rest of the day went buy in a blur. They took the bus to the tram station that ran around the outside of the colony cylinder. Chrys spent most of the time staring at the floor of the station, then the translucent windows of the tram as it traveled around the colony cylinder, seeing the inky expanse of space. Mom had packed her belongings for her, so they didn't even visit home before they made a beeline to the spaceport.

They waited for several hours there, though, which gave her time to think on things. Maybe a bit too long. As they were seated on one of the many benches set throughout the port itself. Not far away, huge windows looked out at the many spacecraft docked nearby, flitting around like insects. They were quiet for a while,

"Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you and dad going to be okay while I'm away?" Chrys was being sent off to a nicer school like she was mostly because her parents had gotten some real money for the 'first time in years' as they had put it. Her dad was in the music business, like he had been 'ever since the war.' She knew her mom had been there too, but she just didn't talk about it as much as her dad.

Chrys thought she might have felt bad about the military, especially since having a child made her leave early. Ever since, she had never been able to keep a job for longer than a few months - often, every job change was accompanied by a move to a new place. Though her parents didn't talk about it, Chrys knew they had heated arguments when they thought she went to bed.

As she said her good-byes and walked into the waiting shuttle, Chrys consoled herself with the thought not having to worry about her actively might make her parents argue less.


	4. New Digs

**November 30th, 0091 U.C.  
Side 5**

* * *

"The hell is taking so damn long?" Lieutenant Kierman was irritated, to say the very least. Just past the open hatch of the carrier, brilliant flashes cut through space as mobile suits were caught in a frantic engagement. _His_ mobile suit pilots. The Lieutenant, however was stuck on the catapult, waiting for the liquid fuel the technicians had forgot to load beforehand.

"_Sir, we've never worked on this type of mobile suit before - we're learning as we go!"_

Kierman slammed a fist onto the console, face contorting in disgust. "Take a minute longer and you'll have to learn how to walk with my BOOT RAMMED UP YOUR ASS!"

"_Y-yes sir!"_

The officer silenced the line and palmed the switch on the side of his orange flight helmet, opening the visor to take a long breath. His skin was tanned and leathery - he looked like an old-world farmhand, partially because he had been one on Earth. Just a small, wiry man toiling at the fields for his living. Before the war, anyway. Losing a brother had given him reason for a swift change in occupation. Kill as many of the Zeonic fucks as he could.

He had been a young man then. Staying in service for over a decade had taken it's toll. His high-and-tight was starting to go silver in places. Crow's feet spread from the edges of his eyes and his brows had taken a permanent stress was going to make his blood pressure go through the roof. Lord knew he was too old to be a combat pilot, with his ancient age of forty-five.

"_Ready to go!"_ There was a sudden jolt as the mobile suit was moved over to the catapult. Deck crew were lined up behind blast shields, watching anxiously as the brand-new mobile suit prepared for launch. The angular lines of the lime-green Jegan had been a sight to behold when they arrived. Given the choice, Kierman would have taken his GM-III, but they had handed the damn thing off to him and asked for results. His hands steadily descended onto the control yokes, the fuel gauge in the bottom right corner of the displays blinking at one-hundred percent. It was a more streamlined machine than the classic GM, with more touch screens and far less buttons. The seats seemed more supportive, and they said the thing finally had airbags, too.

"Good, good," he muttered, closing his visor. "Archer Kierman, Lear 1. Punch it."

The lightweight Jegan shuddered and moved forward at a blinding pace, the Lieutenant letting out a grunt as he was forced into the seat. His eyeballs felt like there were being shoved into the back of his skull, and blood pounded like an angry god's bludgeoning in his temples. The hull blurred by and in a heartbeat, he was released and surrounded by vacuum. Naturally, feeling like he had just received a savage beating for half an hour, he pushed the Jegan to full throttle and kicked the altitude pedals into the floor.

A screen blinked with a red warning about some limiter - he turned it off. If the machine couldn't deal with combat speed, it wasn't fit for live combat. When it seemed his ribs were on the verge of being crushed into powder, he finally let off the throttle, letting the machine hurtle through space in an inertial flight. The green mobile suit hurtled along the huge side of the Industrial 7 colony cylinder, approach a debris field lit up by beam weapons fire. A quick beep alerted the pilot that a laser connection had been made. "Basilicock, are you still with me?" he barked.

The response was gruff and prompt. _"Alive and kicking, but I'm fighting defensive. What took so long?"_ A blue flare precluded another pale green machine hurtling through the debris, dodging all manner of return fire from a trio of pursuing mobile suits. A third Jegan was drifting along with the debris, disabled.

"Idiots, that's what! Norm, shake those damn suits in the debris." Kierman scanned for a moment before taking off behind the nearest one, a white-and-green GM-II. The slower machine was having trouble keeping up, and Kierman closed with ease. He fell directly behind him and fired as soon as the Jegan locked, brilliant red beams filling the space between them. One lanced directly into the suit's back and it's target signature was abruptly terminated. On gut instinct he gave the pedals a firm push, sharply climbing altitude as a beam passed directly through where had been. "Fighting by yourself, eh?" He was already spinning around before the computer gave an indication of where the enemy had fired from.

His pulse sharply increased in tempo as the enemy sent more beams lashing at the Jegan. Every time, without fail he would give a deft adjustment to the pedals and control yokes, using only as much fuel as necessary to avoid the shot. They weren't lasers - it took time for the weapons to travel to their targets and hit. Failing to know that meant a whole lot of misses. The incoming fire paused for just a moment, when a spot off in the debris suddenly lit up with the flash of firing missile pods. Kierman's breathing was even and his expression impassive as he spotted them. With an almost mechanical degree of precision he aimed directly at the launch point and fired thrice, return fire ending abruptly. "Hah! Hiding won't help you if you don't move, punk!"

Kierman grumbled as warnings blared for the still coming missiles. As a matter of routine, he pressed the firing stud for the vulcans and raked the line of fire right in front of the oncoming projectiles. The new suit was so much more agile than the GM, that he had accidentally over-lead the missiles for a moment. The pilot swiftly corrected, watching two missiles, then four more disintegrate mid-flight. The last two found home in a slab of wreckage that the veteran pilot ducked behind. Just then, Basilicock's Jegan flew by, firing behind it at the remaining two mobile suits.

It was a bad idea. You went on the offensive, or defended yourself as best you could. Kierman found himself cussing under his breath as he intersected their flight path and opened up with another barrage of vulcan fire, the 60mm rounds striking home with little effect on the heavily-armored GM-III that was his quarry. The bulky mobile suit darted hard to one side and spun around in a blur, firing with vulcans, rifle and missiles all at once. Kierman hit full reverse and killed his altitude, barely avoiding the fire - accurate fire, too. It must have been Lieutenant Gorga.

He hit the vulcan trigger to engage the missiles, but an ugly warning came up indicating they were jammed. The Lieutenant's brown eyes narrowed dangerously and his fingers clenched tightly around the yokes. "To hell with that," he growled, tucking the Jegan behind it's shield as the missiles were a moment away from impacting. The noise and sound was incredible and brilliant flashes seemed to blot the entire mobile suit from the sky. Not a moment later, Kierman's Jegan emerged directly below the point of impact and filled the air with particle fire. A glancing blow to the GM's leg sent it spinning and it hurtled behind a floating slab of metal.

The pilot didn't relent, firing repeatedly to pin the enemy machine behind cover. At the same time, he ejected the Jegan's shield and removed the hyper bazooka from it's back, taking swift aim. It took a split section to calculate range, then he fired thrice, the rockets sailing around the cover to detonate behind it.

An alert showed the fourth GM sunk by Basilicock's Jegan. Kierman scanned the area once, then reloaded his rifle. "That's-" he coughed harshly, chest heaving, "-four. HQ, we're done here." He needed some pain meds and a cold drink - the adrenaline was already wearing off and the fatigue setting in from the brief, intensive fight.

He had an earful to give the techs about emergency weapons jamming in combat, anyway!

"_Uhh... Lieutenant..."_

That didn't sound right. Kierman sat up abruptly, retaking the controls. "What? Spit it out kid!"

"_Command wants you two engage two more targets, en route as we speak..."_

Lieutenant Basilicock opened a line with Kierman. The face that filled the monitor was sweating bullets and panting heavily. "_Kierman, we need a plan,"_ he said, his voice slow and grave._ "I'm depleted on ammo. This is probably pushing it-"_

"We can take whatever the hell they dish out, Norm!" He was adamant. There was no _probably_ about it. They had the pride of their comrades on the line. "Action before reaction, we'll head them off!" He tossed his beam rifle to the other Jegan before pushing his suit to full output again. Norm followed wordlessly. The two had fought in the Gryps War together. There was no doubt when action had to be taken.

They flew directly alongside one of the large windows running the length of the colony, long enough that their home carrier was visible before the enemy mobile suits. Both pilots threw a crisp salute as they passed the bridge, where guests from Anaheim Electronics observed the entire training exercise. The interior of the Jegan erupted with warning chimes as their enemies entered sensor range.

Norm cleared his throat. "Three Jegans."

"They brought extra? Good! Now they can't say we cheated!" Kierman laughed, igniting his beam saber.

* * *

**November 30th, 0091 U.C.  
Industrial 7, Side 5**

* * *

Chrys stared out the window of the automobile, staring wide-eyed at the world that slowly passed by. "Wooooow..."

"Impressed?" The woman in the driver's seat smiled to her. Ellie was in her late forties, thrice married and with four kids. Her brown hair was greying in places and she tried to hide her wrinkles with a heavy layer of makeup, Chrys had noticed. She had a job with a tourism agency showing people around and letting them settle in. The school had hired her as part of the program Chrys had qualified for, so here she was!

"It's really nice, miss Ellie!"

"Oh, it's nothing too special. You should go to Earth sometime if you want to see something very nice, dear."

Industrial 7 was a nice place. Most people who lived there didn't realize it, but it was an miraculous example of a colony. They said it was mostly made for Anaheim Electronics employees and their families - and a city run by engineers was usually a clean and tidy one. The streets were wide, and there were lots of individual houses instead of those enormous apartment complexes. When Chrys normally looked out at the colony walls, curving up into the sky, she sometimes saw grey blobs of urban sprawl, smoke rising thick into the air. She didn't notice that.

She didn't think miss Ellie knew that, but then again she seemed to dislike space from how often she talked about how much better Earth was. She could tell because the older woman liked to complain about the people more than the environment. How weird they were and how frugal they could be. She didn't understand how they could live in such 'squalid, deplorable conditions.' The guide planned on moving to Earth when she could save up enough.

Chrys didn't think she had to be miserable up until she could afford it, though! They had lived in Side 3 for a few years, and without the windows lining the colonies it felt more like a prison than a habitat. But they just had to deal with it, right?

Eventually they entered a part of the colony where most of the buildings bore an 'AE' emblem. The colors were predominantly a stark white, rather than brick or concrete. It looked really clean, but she had to think keeping buildings like that clean was a bit of a hassle. As it turned out, she was dropped off at just such a building, which looked like a giant cake with windows. It was supposedly the administration building for a sort of boarding school they maintained and a nearby college.

They entered the lobby through a set of double doors twice as tall as they were, their shoes clicking on a smooth marble floor. For a place centered around the concept of educating people, it seemed pretty lavish. Much of the building was hewn from polished stone or burnished metal. There was even a huge engraving of a unicorn up on one wall. Chrys didn't have much time to look it over though, being ushered off to an attached building, where she was supposed to check into a dorm with roommates.

The lobby itself was built into the wall of the colony, so one side of it stared directly out into space. Chrys was looking out when a pair of mobile suits passed by a nearby ship, raising their left arms in a sort of salute. Chrys waved at them as they flew by, though she couldn't help but think that having mobile suits so close to a colony could be a bad idea.

* * *

**November 30th, 0091 U.C.  
Side 5**

* * *

Kierman piloted the Jegan home, missing most of his ammo and the single beam saber the mobile suit carried, but victorious. Behind, the other two Jegans and the defeated GM team descended one-by-one onto the flight deck, where most of the crew awaited their arrival. The techs swarmed the Jegan to remove spent components and analyze the battle recorder.

The Lieutenant? He made a beeline for his quarters to log the engagement, but before he could cross the expanse of hangar to head for the rear of the vessel, he was intercepted by a EFSF Captain. One he _respected_ even. His boots clicked together as Kierman snapped a crisp salute. "Captain Bright. Visiting, sir?" the man said, sounding as polite as his cigarette-scorched vocal cords could manage.

"Your Anaheim guests invited me," he said cordially. It was what the man was known for - being an officer who respected the individual. They were veterans of the same wars, and it was somewhat surprising he had never served under him, but he had witnessed his leadership and heard of his exploits enough to check his attitude. Kierman was about a decade his senior, but even then the man had aged well. Bright met the older man's gaze evenly. "That was an excellent sortie out there."

"Thank you, sir," the Lieutenant responded gruffly. "But I suspect you want to talk to me about something else? This isn't your home vessel."

"Exactly right. Would you look these over?" Bright extended a folder covered with all manner of red stamps. Kierman opened it to the first page and scanned, straining his aging eyes to read the fine legalese.

It was a photocopy of a unit formation sheet, one that would use prototype assault carriers and be comprised almost entirely of veteran pilots, equipped with the new Jegan mobile suits. Their mission statement covered counter-terrorism and care of the colonies - where the Titans had failed. There was a list of accepted candidates, including some real ballsy pilots from the One-Year War. Including the punk in the Gundam.

Suffice to say, even he was impressed. "What do you need me for, sir?"

"I need another squadron leader. Can you do that?" Bright extended a hand.

Kierman thought on that for a bit. He was getting old, and this quasi-special-forces unit was only going to increase his workload. Something told him that skipping out would give him nothing but regrets, still. He took the Captain's hand and shook it. "Still, the hell kind of name is Londo Bell?"


End file.
